


The Caged Cuckoo.

by Strangecat_Ramsey



Series: Cuckoo. [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Non Consensual, Unhappy Ending, dark!Sherlock, dark!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangecat_Ramsey/pseuds/Strangecat_Ramsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to the Unwilling Cuckoo.</p><p>Mycroft has given Sherlock a son and given Sherlock's omega husband John the family he always dreamed of. A second child is the next logical step. Can he live with what he has given up though?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A lost existance.

**Author's Note:**

> Loki_Laufeyson the most dedicated and brilliant editor ever beta'd this.

Chapter 1.

There were moments in Mycroft’s life, when he felt stretched beyond comprehension. Moments in which he wondered why he bothered to get up in the morning. This was indeed such a moment. As he sat in his office he stared down at his office phone with more disapproval than you would expect a man to give to any inanimate object. The truth of the matter was that he had received a message from security that DI Lestrade had logged into their system and was coming up to visit him.

Mycroft knew he couldn't handle him on top of everything else right now. He shifted uneasily. He had hoped to lose weight once the baby was born but that seemed to be counterproductive; he knew that he couldn't avoid Sherlock forever and if things went according to his plans, the idea of losing weight was preposterous. Never mind that it was the height of summer and he felt uncomfortable in his skin. 

He felt his mobile buzz beside his hand as he tried to mentally prepare for the arrival of the DI and it only caused him more distress. The buzz belonged to Sherlock. In a time when things were normal and he could have said with a straight face that he loved his brother unconditionally, he might have admitted to having recorded the gentle vibrating noise to the exact decibel as a hive of contented bees. Now it seemed that it only served to irk him as he tried to stop the sudden tremor in his hand.

He decided to deal with Lestrade first, in an attempt to keep his frayed nerves intact, not wanting to talk to the DI after finding out what he suspected Sherlock would demand of him. He'd stopped wars with his ability to remain calm and collected, for God’s sake! He could deal with a former boyfriend. 

"Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade! How good to see you again, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Mycroft was amazed at how steady his voice was (especially when his phone buzzed again. He chose to ignore it) given how they had parted last time. What a coward he was, hiding his tremor by laying his hand flat on the mobile.

"Don't play coy, Mycroft. You up and disappear seven months ago. Excuses about having to leave the country. Then Sherlock says you've been back for 3 months already! I knew we were having problems, but you owe me more than that surely?” Lestrade sat down, showing he was going nowhere, watching with cold satisfaction as Mycroft paled. 

"Of-Of course yes. You do. I-my apologies for... that, I meant to… You deserve far more than that. The thing of it is, I'm too busy for a fulfilling relationship and you deserved better than that. Than me." 

The truth of it was that Greg did deserve far better than him. He felt paranoid at the thought of Greg finding out about the baby and perhaps thinking it was his and. And now, after Sherlock had used him, he was ruined to everyone. Greg deserved far better than a filthy omega bitch like him. Only good enough to be used. Undeserving of true love or affection. His phone buzzed again, Greg noticed of course.

"That’s bull! Tell me the fucking truth Mycroft, or do you want me to ask Sherlock to look into it? Fucking hell, check your phone already," Greg desperately wanted to be angry with Mycroft but something was setting off his alarms.

He looked tired and frail, almost, there was something dark hidden behind his eyes and there was the way he flinched at being yelled at. This wasn’t the same Mycroft that had left the country, if he did leave the country at all. Something unpleasant occurred to him. 

“Mycroft what happened to you?” Greg inquired, his voice softer now, “You seem different, changed? Did something happen while you were away? ” 

Mycroft paled visibly. He looked as though he were getting ready to swallow the contents of one of Sherlock’s specimen jars. And indeed he probably would have preferred to. Instead, he let out a hoarse cold laugh that seemed so mechanical it hurt his ears and in response Greg’s face changed to radiate shock.

"I had hoped to spare your feelings Gregory but if you must know; I met my Alpha. We hadn't meant to bond of course, but my heat caught me off guard. And as you know, Alpha's don’t share. Even with Beta’s like yourself. Now if that is all? " Mycroft wouldn’t or couldn’t meet his eye as he spoke, focussing on a spot in front of him , his voice monotonous and almost wanting to tell Greg to get out of his sight (if only for fear of what he might read after that speech).

Greg, not having expected that, stared at him in shock. He wanted to get up and leave, but the policeman within him would not let this lie. The detached manner in which Mycroft spoke of his Alpha led him to wonder if the bond was consensual. The man before him wasn’t the Mycroft he had known.

Greg stood up, took out a business card and put it down on the desk beside Mycroft’s hand which was still on the ever- buzzing phone, deciding that when Mycroft needed help he would be there for him. The thought that the man he wanted to spend his life with was bonded and to an Alpha – and one that had sapped all life from his Mycroft- only made his need to help him grow. 

"No matter what’s happened Mycroft, if you need any help at all, call me. I’ll always be there for you,” Greg smiled at him sadly and left.

Mycroft got up, staggering to his adjoined cloakroom, unable to stop himself from being ill. He felt as if Greg had seen him for the disgusting monster that he’d become. He leaned against the cool porcelain bowl of the loo, taking up the phone he'd brought with him and reading the information with a numb feeling in his gut. His soul split in shards as his heart ran cold with terror.

_John is away for a week. Your services are required immediately; do not keep me waiting SH_

He knew he should have had his heat by now but the pregnancy had taken its toll on his body (or it might have been the stress he was going through). The other messages were the same; demanding an answer from him. He couldn't do this again. He'd have to run, panic consumed all thought. He didn't want the chemically induced heat that Sherlock would force on him. It was the end of the day anyway. He knew it was useless running, but he just wanted to escape. 

He left his office in a rush, heading straight for the car park. That was his biggest mistake; no Bonded omega could ever run away from their Alpha. Even if it was his brother.


	2. Caged.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no escape when ones Alpha has plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Loki_Laufeyson :D.

Chapter 2.

He really should have known better than to try and run, he thought bitterly, examining the room about him. It was a room that he recognized only from surveillance and pictures. He could feel his sensitive nose twitch in the cool air, musky and damp smelling; unpleasant. He himself was hidden in the long shadows of the room. ‘Early evening’ he thought ruefully to himself, staring out of the so called window (torn curtains and all) with disdain as he realised that even in his skinniest state he would probably never have fit through them.

The door was obviously locked. Even Sherlock wouldn’t have been so arrogant as to think that Mycroft was too afraid of him not to react to his fight or flight instinct right now. He was terrified. Soon, Sherlock would be back, after helping Mrs.Hudson with the last of her luggage to go and visit her sister, and he’d be left alone with his extremely unhappy Alpha. Any omega would be scared right now. Especially in his rather delicate position. He prayed to which ever omega God there was that no omega had suffered this before. He knew the likelihood of it statistically of course; he wouldn’t dwell on such things.

Mycroft forced his gaze from the lock, the logical side of his brain deciding that there was no point in fighting the inevitable really. Sherlock was in control of this and, unless by some miracle he’d changed his mind, it would happen. But the illogical side told him that it was going to be another nine months of hell. Sherlock becoming more and more possessive of the child in his belly. Knowing that it was only the fact that there was a child inside him that stopped Sherlock from letting him know his displeasure. He was, after all, only the second omega. And their bond had hardly developed past their first encounter. Just enough for it to be almost unbearable to be away from his Alpha if he was feeling possessive of him or in need of him.

He swallowed down the bile he felt rising in his gut at the real issue that he’d been trying to ignore. He should hate Sherlock for this. Despise and loath him entirely. Just enough to break the bond that he felt for him. But his love for his brother was enough to be his downfall. He still loved him as much as any brother might. It wasn’t as if he had taken that much liberty with his power over Mycroft. Just the few times he’d made sure to remind Mycroft of his power over him. 

Most omega’s were able to get out of a bond by feeling the hatred and fear for an Alpha that had imposed their power upon them. It was their defence mechanism during a time when law was not in the omega’s favor. These days the law was definitely on his side. He could have walked into any police station in any part of the common wealth and pressed charges against the Alpha that dared touch him. 

But he wouldn’t, the love that he felt for Sherlock bound him to him in a way that they were never meant to be bonded. The love, though utterly platonic, held him in a chain from which there was no escape, and it tore at his soul. Their bond forced him to obey and be there for his Alpha. Running had never been the solution. But there was _no_ solution. Sherlock hadn’t even needed to pick him up when he began to run. He merely walked into the street, hailed an ordinary cab and when the driver asked him where he wanted to go, he said Baker Street before he even knew what he was doing. 

Of course Sherlock had instantly recognized Mycroft’s urge to flee, he could feel it. Sherlock’s eye’s narrowed at the sight of him, disheveled clothes, dirty shoes, crooked tie, his face red, still grasping his phone as if it were a life line.

He hadn’t said a word as he had grabbed hold of Mycroft’s arm in such a vice like grip that it all became too much for the omega who passed out, waking up in this shit hole. Bare as Adam born unto the world and lying on a slightly lumpy mattress, on rough linen’s and heavy blankets that he suspected might have come from St.Barts. The heavy smell of disinfectant and anti-fungal sprays hung in the air that still managed to smell dank and moldy had given him an instant headache as he inhaled.

His attention was drawn from examining the rather garish orange patterns of the torn wall paper and equally depressing uneven carpet as he heard someone walk past the hallway into the street. Clearly Mrs.Hudson, judging by the uneven step, dragging her luggage on wheels and threatening Sherlock to behave and not to try anything while John and the baby were away. Sherlock sounded his usual, bored self.

Once the door was shut however, Mycroft knew that he would be far from bored. Listening to the slow deliberate footstep toward the door, he pushed himself into the corner, trying to force his heart to start simmering down and dragging a blanket over his still form to protect whatever dignity he had left. He nearly jumped out of his of his skin when Sherlock’s clear commanding voice broke through from the other side of the door, loud and booming. He could see Sherlock’s silhouette through the dirty glass panes of the door. 

“Good evening, omega,” he called, the frustration in his voice tangible. 

He tried to remember the last time his name was Mycroft in private; maybe it would be better if he wasn’t Mycroft at all.

“I’m afraid that this arrangement will have to do as I can’t have you sharing the same bed with me as I have with my husband, you do understand? There is a bathroom and I’ve packed some omega bars for you to nibble on if you get hungry- not as if you are ever not hungry. I shall give you until tomorrow evening to go into heat. If you aren’t the ready little knot-slut that I know you really are by then, I’m afraid that forcing an artificially induced heat on you is my only option. “

Mycroft coloured in shame as he remembered the last time Sherlock had bedded him. He had had no control over what he wanted as his heat had taken over. He’d probably acted like a filthy whore indeed, begging his own brother to fuck him into the mattress. He hated himself in that moment. He hated all of himself to the very being of his soul. Sherlock was right to lock him away. He deserved to burn for all eternity. His only chances of redemption were at the hand of his brother; he could only hope that Sherlock would be merciful.


	3. Giving hurts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out the truth he only half suspected. Sherlock has to explain. Mycroft is desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta is Loki_Laufeyson who managed to find time to do this even though extremely busy.

Chapter 3.

Time froze. The heady scent of pheromones lay dense in the air, so thick that John’s eyes watered as he stared into the darkness of the room. Two forms on the bed, frozen in that one moment which the door had opened on. He recognized Sherlock’s Alpha smell even before he opened the front door of 221 Baker Street. He hadn’t known what to think as he walked in. But he didn’t _want_ to think or to come to conclusions; a major part of him hoped that this was one of Sherlock’s experiments.

He had instantly gone onto auto-pilot. Not unlike his time in the military during moments of great stress and danger. He’d walked past 221C’s corridor up to their flat even though it was painfully obvious that the sense of the smell was coming from there. Laying Hannibal down in his cot, putting his bags down beside the door before walking back down stairs to see if he were mistaken.

The fog of pheromones only seemed to get thicker as he entered the room, turning on the light. No one had moved yet. There was a definite sound of pained whimpering from the same corner that made his hair stand on end. He’d finally noticed the other smell, so similar to Sherlock’s in its complexity but definitely that of an omega, it had been difficult to separate the smell of Sherlock from the omega. 

Sherlock seemed to want to say something, but at the same time thought better of it, allowing John’s angry gaze to examine his flushed face, to run over his scratched back, the bite marks visible on his arms, the impressive bruise forming on his left cheek. His eyes slid down Sherlock’s body to where it joined the omega who had his face turned away but it was already extremely clear that it was Mycroft. His hands were forcibly pressed into the mattress by Sherlock, tears streamed down his face, bite marks, scratches and bruising covered his form. Sherlock had been very careful about how he had done it judging by the fact that Mycroft’s face and middle seemed free of any serious damage, Sherlock having the clinical knowledge on how to harm without killing.

However, despite all of this, it was plain that Mycroft was desperate for whatever Sherlock was giving him. His legs were wrapped desperately around his brother’s waist, afraid that he might leave him. His face, though sweat and tear marked, betrayed the need. Not to mention the extremely heady cocktail of omega hormones that hung in the air, much stronger than Sherlock’s- almost suspiciously stronger. John knew that Mycroft couldn’t help himself right now, but Sherlock was still his bonded mate. The insecure knot that had almost disappeared when Hannibal arrived was back in full force.

“Right.” was all John could bring himself to say, walking back out the way he came, turning off the light and going upstairs. 

The choked, hoarse scream that echoed through the hall behind him, hurting his ears, signalled the return of time to that room. Another scream and then another before he heard the door of 221C slamming shut and the hurried pace of Sherlock following him into their rooms.

“John, please let me explain.” 

It was the first time he’d ever heard Sherlock so breathless and unsure of himself, his normal arrogance gone. John didn’t want to hear it. The Holmes boys were just sick and perverted enough to actually enjoy such a thing, and John wondered cruelly how long their affair had been going on for. His eyes turned to Hannibal who was examining him with a curiosity that he’d chosen to ignore until this moment. Their son was Sherlock’s, that much was clear. He’d gotten a child and he was happy even if it meant that Sherlock had found a surrogate and not wanted him to tell him of it, deciding that remaining blissfully naive to the truth was better in the long run. But it hadn’t occurred to him the omega had been Mycroft.

“Oh, please! Do explain, Sherlock Holmes!” John screamed. 

Having been hustling around the kitchen, he grabbed a saucer and tossed it directly at Sherlock who ducked out of the firing range, letting the saucer smash against the wall. Shortly, the saucer was followed by the tea cup and a scream of, “Tell me exactly why you were fucking your brother!?”

He’d begun randomly throwing saucers and cups at Sherlock as he tried to get closer to John. Making his way to Hannibal as he started to scream and cry, John took him from the play pen and stormed past Sherlock to pick up his bag and leave. He shouldn’t have been surprised to feel Sherlock wrap an arm around his waist and pull him forcibly against his chest, his naked form stinking of Mycroft. John trying to fight him off but it was decidedly difficult with their son in his arms.

“Mycroft’s the surrogate. I thought you might want another child John,” Sherlock’s Alpha tone was laid on thick, instantly calming him. That was unfair, he thought to himself whilst pressing against Sherlock. He’d always known best when it came to most things. Not his health obviously, or sleeping habits but he had gotten more sensible about running into dangerous situations since Hannibal was born. Sherlock would take care of them, he had always taken care of them, Sherlock knew best. 

They sank to the floor, Hannibal staring at them before snuggling against John’s chest and closing his eyes, the 14 week old already having had a long day of travel. 

“Why, Sherlock? Aren’t you happy with me?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Sherlock’s- Sherlock who was still naked, the omega downstairs obviously having an effect on him. 

“You deserve the world John. Mycroft is too busy to have children, but he’s an omega and that’s what he was built to do. Him giving us children is a perfect compromise. He’ll be able to visit. And Hannibal deserves a sibling John. Just as you deserve children. I probably went about it the wrong way, but isn’t Hannibal Holmes Perfect?” Sherlock whispered with an amazing amount of patience considering the amount of omega pheromones wafting through the house right now. 

“The baby either had to be 100% my bloodline or 50% yours, John. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else’s child being ours,” Sherlock whispered into his ear.

“But it’s wrong Sherlock. He’s your _brother_.” Even as he spoke he pulled Hannibal closer to his chest deciding that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his baby.

“It doesn’t matter John. You know that Mycroft compared you to a mother lion once? He said he wouldn’t want anyone else raising his children.” John swallowed thinking how that had to be the greatest compliment he’d ever received.

“And if he wanted his children back Sherlock? I would rather die than loose our son,” John whispered, playing with the curls on his son’s forehead. He tried to remain hard towards the scenario but his anger dissipated quickly at the idea of another child to hold and love.

“We’ll have him sign away rights to them then John, but I don’t think that will be a problem for him. He’ll even help send them to the best schools if we want John. Remember that this is the perfect solution for him as well.” Sherlock kissed John’s brow before pulling them both up, helping him put Hannibal to bed properly and putting some tea on. All the while attempting to ignore the omega’s scent, but feeling slightly distracted. John had finally returned to the cup of tea Sherlock had set down for him.

“Mycroft doesn’t want to be here. He fought you.” John stated slowly, now fully in control of himself. He stared pointedly at the mark blossoming on Sherlock’s cheek.

“Mycroft doesn’t know what he wants, John. This is in all our best interests. I’d hate for him to wake up one day to find he is barren and not having had a chance to have had any children of his own. Unfortunately, he’s now bonded to me , but it’s not strong. ” From the look on John’s face he’d said exactly the right thing, knowing the pain of being unable to have children. A second omega in a relationship wasn’t unheard of, Mycroft could break that bond if he truly wanted to; clearly a part of him wanted this, even if it was subconsciously.

“I want to check him over when you’re done. It’s not a natural heat is it? It’s an induced heat? I’ll be his doctor for this child. Did you take care of him with Hannibal?” Sherlock merely shrugged in response and finished his tea, knowing that it wasn’t a good idea to leave Mycroft for too long; forcing an intense heat on an omega and then neglecting them was cruel even for him. John seemed to read his mind.

XXX

He was dying. He was convinced he was dying. His skin felt like it was being split from his bones. His bones felt that they were going to crack and shudder to dust from the violent waves of scorching heat flowing through his body. His body shook violently from the fever that had been forced on it. The tears that had been falling from his blood shot eyes seemed to dry to dust the moment they touched his pyretic skin. He was being roasted alive from the inside out. 

He didn’t want to die here. It was dark, it stank and worst of all he was alone. His Alpha had abandoned him. Abandoned him to face this alone. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this. He felt empty, he needed his Alpha’s cock to sooth him, to make this all better. 

Desperation took him long ago, having outweighed social niceties. Plunging his fingers into himself as hard and fast as his Alpha had taken him. He tried to soothe his fever, biting down onto the pillow, fucking the mattress as he tried to quench himself in the worst heat he had ever felt. His fingers were too short to satisfy him only seemed to frustrate him; he reached into himself further and further, adding more fingers, more quickly than he normally would have. Trying to fill himself. Trying to satisfy the ache that his Alpha had deemed unworthy of his attentions. 

He could do this, he didn’t have a choice, and he could make it feel better. It wasn’t perfect, but the pressure on his cock and the fingers he was forcing his arse to take was beginning to satiasfy him- if only slightly. He wasn’t going to die, he’d get through this.

He was getting closer to the edge of bliss and that one moment of quiet after his orgasm, where the world seemed right. He was rocking so wildly on the bed that he didn’t notice the door swing open. Only realizing when he felt his fingers roughly removed from himself. Held down in front of him. He’d began to fight like a wild cat, kicking and hissing, spitting and trying to bite until he recognized it was his Alpha holding him down, muttering at him that he really was a whore. Yes he was. He was a filthy dirty slut, but that didn’t matter as long as his Alpha was there.

He also smelled another omega; his Alpha’s primary omega and that was fine too. He should be honored to get his blessing, but that inferno was returning and he was going to start dying again if he didn’t get some kind of relief.

He felt something slipping into him and purred. Over his Alpha’s and his own heavy breathing he heard a voice informing them that he wasn’t torn by some miracle, that Sherlock pulling his deflating cock out of him so roughly had only caused bruising. Somewhere at the back of his mind recognized that that should be important but he couldn’t bring himself to care, he was too busy trying to get more of that finger into him.

It left so abruptly that he let out an anguished cry- only to have the space it left quickly filled with something so much better, plundering him into the mattress, screams of pleasure echoed around the room, as he finally felt the relief of his Alpha’s cock buried deep inside him. 

XXX

Mycroft supposed he should count himself lucky as he sat gingerly atop the mattress the next evening. His linens were freshly changed, he was eating toast and broth that John had brought him once he was finally feeling like himself and the curtains had been changed to make the room look less abandoned. He’d even been allowed a long bath, scrubbing himself until John had forced him to get out.

He didn’t know how he would have gotten home if he were completely honest. His leg’s didn’t want to follow his orders and moving had been so painful in the beginning that passing out was the kindest thing for him. His whole body was aching from the intense fever, his muscles complaining at every move. He’d lost more weight in four days held up here than he had on several diets in the past. 

He wouldn’t meet John’s eyes, but John wouldn’t meet his either. 

The post coital examination - as John had awkwardly joked- had been worse than expected as he hadn’t expected it. John had bandaged any bleeding cuts, added blessed cold packs to major bruises and rubbed cream into every possible space that needed it until the room that had once stunk of mould, smelt of cream and disinfectant instead. Mycroft had wept at the gentle touch, not having felt such care in so long and he was grateful that John had chosen to ignore the silent tears that slipped from his eyes.

The only time that Mycroft and John had spoken was when John asked if he’d ever want Hannibal back. He didn’t think he would. Not really. He had plans with his own life. Nothing that permitted a baby into it, let alone two. It would have been nice to live his life out with Lestrade who had similar feelings about children, but he wasn’t going to let John know that. Agreeing fully to sign away parental rights to their children as long as he could remain part of their life’s in some capacity or other.

He’d woken later that evening to find his son lying beside him, staring at him inquisitively for all of his three and a half months of age. A Holmes through and through, he thought with a small smiles he pulled his son into his chest. He was amazed at the softness of his hair, the sweetness of his breath, the azure quality of his gaze. He allowed himself a single moment to weep for what could have been, for the children that he’d have to watch grow old but would never be his, for the love he had lost, for Sherlock who’d never wanted this but had to see to his family, and finally for himself who would grow old alone. It suddenly felt like the loneliest day of his life, even as he’d fallen asleep with Hannibal in his arms, holding him gently.

Sherlock had of course visited him as often as John. Acting like his brother, the hardness in his gaze still there but at least attempting kindness. Probably John’s doing but he was grateful, even to have his younger brother back for a second was a well-paid price, especially for the small moments when Sherlock would bring the baby down with him, or they would come down for dinner with him.

Five days into the ordeal he had felt the need to leave. Dressing in his clothes once more, he took up the mobile (that had been used to message Anthea about him being ill) that was now flat and in need of a charge. Putting on his mask, he left quietly after a word from Sherlock who informed him that John wanted to see him twice a month for check-up’s on his health and that he would return after work to join them for dinner so that John could discuss diets. He didn’t force himself onto Mycroft, didn’t mention the heat, he even managed to sound grateful, in as much a way that Sherlock Holmes might sound grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is undergoing editing after a fairly large plot fault was noted. will be re-posted soon.For anyone that's interested. 
> 
> Apologies.


	4. An Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gives birth and starts to gain his life back with Gregory at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta is Loki_Laufeyson who has been extremely patient with an anal perfectionist(aka Me). So she deserves a medal and a parade and probably a few personal hours(maybe even a week) alone with a willing Mycroft as well...
> 
> Also:   
> This is Omegaverse so people’s attitudes towards sex are obviously different. A lot of people would not view rape as quite a disgusting an act between an Alpha and Omega due to the problems that there always are surrounding consent in this ‘verse. The characters of this story _do_ understand what has happened is wrong but Sherlock is dark here, John verging on so and Mycroft is forever blinded by his not wanting to harm his brother. So there might not be the sense of justice you would hope for and you might find it quire horrific but, well, it’ kind of supposed to be.

Birth was painful. Mycroft didn’t care what the general consensus on birth was. It was _**P.A.I.N.F.U.L**_ . And what was more, doing it in the height of summer _again_ was starting to get on his nerves. He was going to have Sherlock neutered! He didn’t care what John said, he had more right than any person on the planet to neuter the man. And don’t even get him started on Dr.John I’m-Only-looking-out-for-your-own-and-the-baby’s-best-interests-ultrasound-me-for-the-fifth-time-this-week Watson.

He cried out so loudly that the windows of his bedroom shook with it, gripping Sherlock’s fingers even tighter (served the idiot right for giving him his whole hand). This time he heard the triumphant cry from John as he presumably caught their next child. John held the fair-haired infant in his arms as it screamed its lungs out and already clutched it to his chest as if it were his own; Mycroft forced down the tiny pinch of hurt at the idea.

“A Boy! Oh Sherlock it’s a boy.”

Sherlock had eventually managed to pry his fingers from his hand and went over to look at their new son, looking incredibly pleased with himself. They cleaned up the child together as if both had already forgotten his existence. He’d hoped that John would at least help him clean up; laying back with his leg’s in the air was hardly comfortable, especially feeling so exposed. Eventually, the good doctor did come to his aid.

Mycroft had fallen into an exhausted sleep soon after John had cleaned him up. He felt himself lifted up and placed into his soft, safe bed and drifted between unconsciousness and reality as he slept off the day’s weariness, waking to find John taking his blood pressure giving him a reassuring smile.

“Where’s the baby?” he asked, his throat feeling raw, trying not to sound interested. He watched John look down at his clipboard, making a small note before popping a thermometer into Mycroft’s mouth.

“Artemis with Sherlock at Baker Street. We thought it would be easier on you if you didn’t see him for a few months, like with Hannibal.” Mycroft nodded slowly looking out of the large windows and refusing to feel anything other than indifference on the matter.

“You lost more blood during the birth than I would have liked. It has stopped now but you’ll be anaemic for a while. I’ll get you some iron supplements and such. You’ll want to start losing weight as well I imagine, I’ll work on a diet for you.”

Mycroft sighed loudly, removing the thermometer from his mouth and limping toward the bathroom, slightly tired of hearing John prattling on. “It’s not a good idea for you to move around too much Mycroft.”

“If it’s all the same to you Dr.Watson, the birth of _your_ son is over. It’s no longer in my body. So kindly stop trying to micromanage me. I managed my diets and health very well before you and I damn well will after you. I am tired of both you and Sherlock treating me like the Goose that gave golden eggs. You can tell Sherlock no more! If you want more children, adopt!!! I am through. I will go insane if this continues. It’s been nearly 2 years of my life John. I want to be in charge of my own body again. Please just leave. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon. I’ll plan a picnic out in the gardens, you can bring the children and we’ll sit beneath the trees drinking tea pretending that everything is normal. But leave…right now!”

John looked as if he had swallowed something sour but he packed up his bags and left quickly as if he had only just come to realise what it had been like for Mycroft all along. As if he didn’t appreciate it until that moment really. He walked past Mycroft without looking at the man standing in the bathroom door, following his exit.

Mycroft sighed, slipping down against the wall to sit on a nearby chair just outside the door, wincing as he sat. He tried to control his breathing, feeling as if he’d sat there for an age (and probably had), the sound of his mobile buzzing at him was the last thing he needed.

_Not a nice way to talk to John, but I promise I won’t be asking any more favours, Omega.SH._

Mycroft reread the message several times, trying to decipher the truth in it, before giving up, walking into the bathroom for a long shower. He tried to ignore the tall gaunt figure in the mirror. He felt aged by decades. To go through it once had been a harrowing experience. To go through it twice. He almost wished it had killed him.

He thought longingly of Gregory as he slipped into the shower, stamping the thought down, allowing the hot water to beat out the knots in his shoulders. Tomorrow he would go back to work, put on his normal mask and run the country. Tonight he would allow himself the small comforts that he felt long robbed of. Showers without being disrupted by phone calls or Sherlock or John taking the opportunity afterwards to do a quick physical while they happen to have just shown up as he had his shirt off anyway. 

A good, strong, _large _glass of whiskey without John’s disapproving face or Sherlock threatening to punish his omega if he were alone with him. A nice cigarette or perhaps a nice fat cigar to go with his drink. He had to die of something; old age was starting to look bleaker by the second.__

__Then finally being allowed to cuddle into his own bed knowing that nowhere in his house were Sherlock or John, no one was going to force him to sleep on one side of the other, there would be no uncomfortable heavy ball for a stomach in the way of his rest._ _

__As he settled into bed, a pleasant hum thrumming through him from the nicotine and alcohol, he allowed himself to think of Gregory. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of him in so long but it shouldn’t have caused that tight pressing pain deep within his chest to think of the man he’d given up._ _

__The last time Mycroft had seen Gregory had been at a crime scene that Sherlock had attended. He’d needed to see them about a problem he himself was having at work. For once Sherlock hadn’t argued, just taking the folder that he was holding asking John to look through it as he was busy._ _

__Gregory had spotted Mycroft as soon as he had arrived, already starting to waddle slightly with his weight. It was probably something to be said for himself that even obese, men (Alpha, Beta and Omega alike) would step aside in awe at his natural penetrating gaze._ _

__He’d come over, asking Mycroft general questions like how he was, right in front of Sherlock, who’d been treating him fairly well since John had come into the mix. But Sherlock’s gaze had fallen dark, staring at Mycroft and daring him to answer the DI. He’d been so unnerved by Sherlock that he had begun to prattle on about everything and anything, stumbling over his words before making a hasty retreat back to his car- claiming work as an excuse to leave. It was the truth. Even if Gregory looked more worried than he’d ever seen him._ _

__That night had been unpleasant. Sherlock might not have been willing to hurt the baby , but he’d certainly let his Alpha thoughts loose. Mycroft couldn’t even remember his father being so cruel in word and intention._ _

__He decided to concentrate more on the DI now, remembering their evenings together and the few holidays they’d taken together. Or the fact that he treated him like an equal, not like a threat or something to be bred. It was nice to have a Beta partner. Greg was perfect, understanding and even after months of being gone he’d still made sure that Mycroft was alright. And Mycroft wished more than anything that they could have something together again. But knew the likelihood of that already._ _

__XXX_ _

__Life was back to normal within a day. He was simply too busy to worry about his personal life. Japan needed answers on technology contracts, America was trying to push their weight around again, Britain was in crisis with yet more striking and Anthea was giving him dubious looks as he started yet another of his diets, having already lost a good stone- though it was clear that she was glad to have her boss back again. He’d decided that exercising again would be a must and had Anthea looking out for private gyms once he’d managed to stop looking like death warmed over._ _

__He’d even received an invitation from John and Sherlock to Hannibal’s second birthday. Anthea would need to do research into what exactly it was that two year olds liked. Everything was running like clockwork, until he ran into the Detective- the very one he’d lulled himself to sleep with thoughts of the previous night._ _

__It was an accident. At least he hoped it was. Gregory took one look at Mycroft and his confusion turned to worry and, perhaps, a little regret. He looked him up and down as if he couldn’t believe what he saw before him. Did he really look that bad? Mycroft wondered to himself, staring back at Gregory, trying not to feel too self-conscious about himself._ _

__“Myc… Christ, you look like shit. You alright?” Greg said, moving closer as if it would help him read all of Mycroft’s secrets._ _

__The knot that had been dissipating for the last day flared in his chest again; fear- that Gregory could really see Mycroft for the monster he was trying to hide- started to thrum in his chest. He needed to take control._ _

__“I’m perfectly fine Detective Inspector. If you don’t mind, I am busy and have no time for the Met right now.”_ _

__Was that really from him? Mycroft wondered, feeling distant and letting his feet carry him away, deciding to make sure that he never ran into Gregory again. Security could monitor him. After a while Greg would forget about him and that was better for all involved. He just hoped that Greg would not try to speak with him at home._ _

__Mycroft had almost expected to see him that night and was grateful that he didn’t show. Nor did he show the next. On the third night however, there was a knock at his door. Having forgotten about Greg for a moment, thinking that it was perhaps John here to check on his stitches, he had opened the door to find Greg looking just as bad as he felt, if that was at all possible._ _

__Mycroft was so taken aback by Gregory’s appearance that he stepped aside to allow the man in. He was carrying a six pack of beer which he dumped onto a kitchen counter before waiting there for Mycroft to join him. When he finally snapped out of his stupor Mycroft walked into the kitchen and took up a bottle that was offered. Back in the sitting room they sat beside one another, Mycroft still too shocked to say anything, it wasn’t until he had taken a sip of the vile brew that he found his voice again._ _

__“What’s wrong Gregory? Something happened? Is Sherlock alright?” Greg seemed more worried than he did however and took a deep slug of his beer._ _

__“Sherlock’s alright. Went to see him and asked about you, since you wouldn’t talk to me. He said that I should ask you. I demanded he tell me. Alpha’s can go take a leap some days, you know? Arrogant sods. H said he did something unforgivable and that it was your story to tell. So here I am.” Greg sounded weary._ _

__Deciding to ignore the beer, Mycroft sat back wondering if this was Sherlock’s way of asking forgiveness. Or was he overestimating his brother’s ability to feel anything?_ _

__“I don’t want to talk about it, Gregory. If truth be told I am more distraught over the loss of what we had than what Sherlock did.” It might only be partially true of course, he hated what was done to him, but he had his nephews to think of now. He’d have a range of regrets later in life with regard to them of course but at least he’d never regret not having a child._ _

__“What we had can still be had Mycroft. I don’t even understand why you left! I still can’t stop thinking of you, even with your Alpha I would have thought that you would have stayed in contact with me?”_ _

__There was no lie in what Greg was saying, no hidden details. He spoke what he felt. Mycroft felt tears falling from his eyes again and, maliciously, he wondered when he’d turned into such a cry baby. Greg’s arms wrapped around him, and pulled him to lie against his chest. Mycroft could only soak up the kind attention he was receiving, unable to be selfless and save Greg from him; selfishly wanting to keep him._ _

__“Sherlock is my Alpha,” whispered Mycroft, long after he had stopped crying, his face pressed into Greg’s neck._ _

__Mycroft felt him stiffen under his body as he finally comprehended what had been said, Greg’s grip tightening on him a lot harder than even he expected. It was a comfortable weight that he had never expected to feel again._ _

__“The children?” he finally asked when it all sank in._ _

__“John is barren. Sherlock knew I didn’t have time for children, perfect solution” Mycroft mumbled bitterly, unable to meet Greg’s eye._ _

__“Do you want to press charges? It couldn’t have been consensual, could it?” Greg asked, trying to control his feelings towards the matter. He didn’t think that he could forgive himself if he allowed his anger and disgust in Sherlock to bring further distance between Mycroft and himself, he would be there for him. He would work tirelessly to show Mycroft that he deserved love._ _

__“It wasn’t no, but I don’t and wont. Sherlock is my brother and I couldn’t see him punished. And the children would be happier with John.” And he meant every word of it. He’d never be able to take care of the children like John could. He had practically raised Sherlock himself when he was younger and look how that had turned out?_ _

__He didn’t have the time or inclination to raise children. He loathed and despised everything that had been done to him by the only kin he had left in the world, but Sherlock was his brother. And he would not risk the happiness of his children let alone his brother for such a pitiful thing as revenge. What was done was done. A family was not something that he (the British government) could afford anyway. It was one thing to have people going after his brother to get to him; he didn’t think that he could choose his government over his children as he had his brother on a few occasions._ _

__It was clear to Greg that Mycroft was suffering from some form of shock but he would be there for him and he would certainly be having words with Sherlock. Really, Greg felt the need to make Sherlock suffer but knowing his brother wouldn’t be happy with that however, he forced himself to stay calm._ _

__Greg stared at him dubiously wondering if he’d developed some kind of Alpha/omega Stockholm Syndrome but deciding that as long as he was happy and Sherlock didn’t try his luck with him again, then he would let sleeping dogs lie. Mycroft was capable of looking after himself._ _

__“Do I disgust you Gregory?”_ _

__“Never.”_ _

__XXX_ _

__The sound was precise and deliberate. It felt like a sharp shard of glass jamming itself from Greg’s ear to the back of his brain that told him that there was possible danger. It was enough to jolt him awake as he had lain beside a man that he had once loved dearly and had hoped to continue doing so if Mycroft would allow him to._ _

__He’d gently lifted the man earlier that evening, taken him to bed and lain down beside him before finally trying to deal with his own frustration and anger. He fell asleep realizing that it was Mycroft who he would need to tend to before he could even consider dealing with his own emotions._ _

__A high frequency hum still echoed in his ear as he was pulled from his slumber. Greg glanced down at Mycroft to make certain that he hadn’t woken him before attempting to untangle himself from the arms that clung on even in sleep._ _

__His instincts warned him that there was something amiss, as he walked from the bedroom toward the kitchen feeling slightly ridiculous about creeping around his partners? flat. But there was another person hidden within the walls of Mycroft’s home and he had a fairly good idea who it was._ _

__He wasn’t disappointed when he walked into the living room to find Sherlock sitting before a freshly lit fire, staring into it intently. His fingers were steepled before his face in deep concentration on some matter or other._ _

__Greg had never before felt so inclined toward his desire to cause bodily harm than in that moment. He had to force himself to stay in the doorway; gripping onto the doorframe with all his might for fear that he might actually throw something at Sherlock - a chair or one of the many statues that decorated the Holmes home. His mind drifted to one of the many ornamental swords that could probably still be used as weapons and that the best way to get rid of the body would be to chuck it in the Thames. Sherlock had made so many enemies in the past that proving it was him would be difficult, and even if he did get caught it would be worth it._ _

__Sherlock gave no indication of having noticed him but let out a long sigh, clearly irritated about something._ _

__“Killing me will hurt Mycroft more than help him Lestrade.”_ _

__Greg ground his teeth together and felt his fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands in the knowledge that he couldn’t kill Sherlock (but the thought of it at least was slightly satisfying)._ _

__“I _should_ kill you, you bastard! Your own fucking brother! How could you do that to your own brother?!”_ _

__A frown formed on Sherlock’s face, his impassive features turning to scorn as he glared at Lestrade, trying to decide whether or not the man was owed an explanation._ _

__“John is my Omega. I would do anything to ensure that our relationship lives on as long as possible. That he is happy. Without children John would wither away to nothing. It was the only option. Even Mycroft can see that. Are you so blind Lestrade that you can’t even see the truth?”_ _

__Lestrade moved closer, not unclenching his fists but forcing them to stay by his side, walking closer so as to examine Sherlock’s face as he spoke. His stomach roiled in a storm of anger and hatred. “You _raped_ your own brother. It shouldn’t have been an option at all! The first time was atrocious… the second time was cruel and inexcusable!“_ _

__“What was done was to preserve the Holmes bloodline Lestrade! It was necessary! It is our duty to our family to ensure that it continues! And it has. A second child was absolutely needed and Mycroft understood that. A second child is insurance that our line continues. He is there as a companion to the first. But most of all siblings have a connection unlike any other creature on this planet. They might fight and compete but there are no two people in the world that truly connect than siblings. And to a Holmes any connection is rare.” Sherlock was growing bored with the conversation but he forced himself to sit through it, watching the tiny drops of sweat forming on Greg’s forehead as he tried to control himself._ _

__“Mycroft doesn’t have space in his life for children Lestrade, but he is an Omega and Omega’s need to breed or a part of them is never truly satisfied. Mycroft now has two wonderful nephews- Hannibal and Artemis - and is welcome to visit and spoil them so rotten that they will look forward to always seeing him. While John and I deal with the more mundane task of raising them. Mycroft might not be happy with the way things went Lestrade, but this gives him an opportunity to live the best of both worlds. Perhaps you might actually open your mind to the idea of him being happy with this arrangement?”_ _

__Greg couldn’t take it anymore, lunging forward and pulling Sherlock out of his chair, knocking over several items as he tugged him up and slammed him against the wall._ _

__Sherlock somehow managed to remain unimpressed even as he gripped tightly onto Greg’s wrist to try and pull him off and Greg snarled in his face, “Did you ever ask Mycroft what he wanted or did you just take it?”_ _

__Greg could feel Sherlock’s pulse beneath his fingers as they constricted tightly around his throat, not giving him a chance to breath._ _

__The look on Sherlock’s face expressed guilt on that behalf. “Mycroft deserved- deserves far better than that! If it were up to me I’d march there and take those children back because by right they are his!”_ _

__“But it isn’t up to you Gregory,” Mycroft’s steady voice rang out as Sherlock’s hands began to involuntarily claw at Greg- trying to breath._ _

__“Kindly put my brother down,” He asked, not bothering to hide his limp as he walked into the room past shattered (possibly priceless) vases that had been broken as Greg lost his temper. His hands settled on Greg’s shoulders, trying to calm him, but honestly too tired to deal with his Alpha/Brother and his Beta/Boyfriend?._ _

__“Gregory what has happened has happened. And yes I wish it had been dealt with differently but one cannot change the past.”_ _

__Greg slowly loosened his grip and moved back as Sherlock slumped down against the wall, staring up at the two of them with a petulant frown before clambering back to his feet._ _

__“Sherlock will give us his blessing to continue our relationship. And I am certain that I have his guarantee on proper support and assistance on even the most tedious and ‘boring’ of cases and government problems in the foreseeably long future. Am I correct Sherlock?” Sherlock managed a curt nod, his throat feeling rather too sore to talk right then._ _

__“Good. That is settled then. Gregory, please return to our room and wait for me. I need a word with Sherlock.”_ _

__Greg frowned, wanting to argue, but trying to argue against Mycroft Holmes would never end well. Not when he had already set his mind to it. So he nodded, giving Mycroft’s arm a gentle squeeze before leaving the two brothers alone._ _

__“Mycroft…” Sherlock’s voice was finally returning if not very hoarse._ _

__“Sherlock,” Mycroft muttered, suddenly regretting sending Greg back to bed._ _

__“What I did was...”_ _

__“What you did was inexcusable Sherlock and we are both aware of that,” Mycroft’s voice was as cool, as sharp as ice._ _

__He would probably admit to himself later that addressing Sherlock in such a business-like manner was the only way he could have dealt with the conversation. Right then, he wasn’t Mycroft Holmes the Omega who had suffered at the hands of his own brother. He was Mr.Holmes the Iceman, with diamond skin and an ice cold heart for protection._ _

__Sherlock stared at his brother with something vividly akin to shock. Never in his life had his brother addressed him so coolly. Even in the aftermath of their shared heats, when Mycroft had regained what was left of him, he had never been so icy toward him. It stung in a way that Sherlock had never expected it to._ _

__“Please Mycroft you must understand, John and I didn’t have an option…”_ _

__“I understand that you took an option that best suited your omega and yourself. There were other options. Options that would not have led to… this.” The way Mycroft said _‘this’_ made it sound pained but obscure. Almost more like a regretful hiss than an actual word. To Sherlock, Mycroft suddenly seemed years older. _ _

__“You are not the naïve teenager that can run to his brother every time something makes you feel threatened, Sherlock. Your actions have consequences! What you did… What you did was abuse me for a gain that would save your omega but lose your brother.”_ _

__Even through the icy hard façade, Mycroft sounded tired and hurt, two years’ worth of trauma showing on his face. And for the first time in two years, Sherlock allowed himself to see Mycroft for the man he was, not the omega he could use. His chest tightened as Mycroft’s jaw clenched, steeling himself to ask a question that had bothered him for a long while._ _

__“Was I truly of such low worth to you that you would rather have torn me and my life apart than seek out a better option, Sherlock?_ _

__Sherlock didn’t know how to answer that. He hadn’t even considered Mycroft as anything other than an omega. An empty womb that would grant John and him a happy ending after he had made his decision. He felt at a loss of what to say._ _

__“My apologies Mycroft. My actions were… Can you forgive me brother?”_ _

__Mycroft stared at Sherlock, his cool blue eyes assessing him. An Alpha apologising was exceptionally rare. Sherlock apologising was unheard of. The answer to the question was harder than he realised however. Behind the walls of diamonds and ice, his heart tightened painfully. He had once thought that maybe Sherlock did love him; that he just didn’t know how to show it. It had been a small thought in a room in the back of his mind, hidden with memories of pirate games and bed time stories. But now, that thought was near extinguished and even the word brother felt false._ _

__“Though I acknowledge your apologies _brother_. I cannot bring myself to accept them at this moment in time. Forgiveness is hard earned and I would ask you to leave myself and Gregory well enough alone until I am able to give that to you without it feeling forced. Good night Sherlock.”_ _

__Sherlock could only nod his acceptance. Mycroft, no longer able to stand being in the same room as his brother, bowed tightly and turned on his heel, making his way out of the room. He did not want to allow Sherlock to get in another word, lest he crumble._ _

__The walk up to his (their. Gregory and his) room felt like it would never end. The climb quiet, dark and cool much like his state of mind. Every step took him further away from his brother and closer to Gregory. A step away from the two years of his life that he was going to put in his mind and lock the door to. Memories he wasn’t ever planning to look upon again if he could help it._ _

__He walked into the room, almost not willing to open the door for fear that perhaps it was all just a dream and he wouldn’t find Greg there. But, true to his word, Gregory was waiting patiently for Mycroft on his side of the bed, a look of clear relief on his face as Mycroft entered._ _

__Mycroft slid into Greg’s open arms, burying his face in the familiar smells that were Gregory Lestrade. His fingers fisted into his lover’s shirt as he tried to control his emotions; he couldn’t. He never could with Greg. Trying to avoid tears was difficult with Greg’s hand rubbing gentle circles onto the small of his back, a gesture so unconsciously kind and gentle that it reminded Mycroft exactly what he had been deprived of._ _

__Mycroft looked up to find Greg watching him, not judging but calm and happy to have him in his arms. Sitting up, Mycroft tentatively kissed him, earning a gentle press of lips in return. This was familiar, it was safe._ _

__By the end of the languid kiss, they were almost asleep in each other’s arms, their lips meeting occasionally when one of them found the energy to lean forward. Almost trying to make up for lost time._ _

__Greg’s arms tightened protectively around Mycroft. They both knew this wouldn’t be easy, there would be more tears, more anger and fear to come and although Greg was under no illusion that it would be an easy journey, he would not allow his anger towards Sherlock to obscure his primary task; helping Mycroft feel himself again, feel safe. For now, Mycroft was feeling happier than he had in long while, drifting off to sleep in the arms of the man he loved and who loved him._ _

__He smiled sadly down at the man in his arms, tilting Mycroft’s chin to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “I missed you so much Mycroft.”_ _

__Mycroft allowed himself to sink into Greg’s arms, feeling safe and secure knowing he was there for him. Two years of sleepless nights finally caught up with him and he began to drift off in the comforting envelope of Greg’s embrace._ _

__Gregory didn’t know whether to smile or frown as he watched the man he loved finally allow himself that moment of rest that he had so been longing for. He couldn’t allow his anger for Sherlock to get in the way, not when there would be more important things to focus on, like trying to help Mycroft get through this. He was under no illusions that this would be easy, but he was determined to see Mycroft through it._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Beta Loki_Laufeyson for their patience! and being a damn awesome Beta!


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